


Christmas at Penscombe

by ishafel



Category: Rutshire Chronicles - Jilly Cooper
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rupert's first love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas at Penscombe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/gifts).



Three weeks before Christmas, Rupert's mother goes away, in a flurry of trunks, hatboxes, and matching luggage, “Just for a little while, darling, to get my head straight, look after Adrian, won't you, and do mind Nanny.” Rupert knows, as children often do, that she isn't on a cruise or skiing in Gstaad; he overhears Cook and James the groom discussing the way Herself had bolted, taking Mr. Campbell-Black's favorite painting, the nude in the upstairs hallway that is supposed to be a Sargent.

Rupert misses her terribly, though he pretends not to, and he spends most of his time in the loft of the Penscombe stables with the tabby cat and her kittens, hiding from Nanny and baby Adrian who is teething and cries incessantly. He is eight years old, and already he is learning that women are not to be trusted, that even when you try to be good it isn't enough to keep the people you love from leaving you behind.

On Christmas Eve, Eddie rolls up in a chauffeur- driven Daimler he doesn't own, a beautiful woman on each side, in a state James describes to Cook later as well past well-lit. His tailcoat looks as if he's slept in it and his shirt collar has lipstick in pink on the left and in red on the right. He demands that Nanny bring the children down-- and although she complains bitterly to Rupert, she lays his clothes out for him and tells him to hurry when he's slow unbuttoning his pyjamas.

The servants don't much like Mummy, whom they call Herself and sometimes That Interloper, but Eddie is a Campbell-Black and a son of Penscombe. They watched him grow up and they believe he can do nothing wrong. Rupert, too young to drink or chase women, and therefore too young to interest Eddie and be subjected to the famous charm, knows better. If this is a war he is firmly on the other side.

Still, there's not much he can do when Nanny takes his hand and marches him downstairs to the sitting room. The two women-- Mrs. James the housekeeper will tell James later that they looked right tarts, and that clearly they were no ladies-- with Eddie are full of compliments for Rupert's blue eyes and fair hair, but put off by his scowl. They turn, a little desperately, to Adrian, who for once is all smiles and long eyelashes.

Rupert is left to Eddie, who offers him a glass of Champagne, and asks after his pony, Snapdragon. Ordinarily, either would be enough to distract Rupert, who is vastly proud of Snap and never allowed more than a sip of wine. Tonight, though, he won't be bought. “Will Mummy be home in time for Christmas?”, he demands.

“Mummy's left us. Mummy's bolted to Saudi with an oil sheikh,” Eddie says heavily. “Mummy won't be home ever again. We're getting a divorce, Rupert, do you understand what that means?”

“No,” Rupert lies, because if he doesn't understand, it isn't true.

Eddie sighs and closes his eyes. “I should have stayed in London,” he mutters. Adrian starts to cry, and Nanny bustles in. Rupert is hauled away to bed before he can ask any more questions.

In the morning he opens his stocking presents, which are so dull Mrs. James must have picked them out from Penscombe shop, and has his boiled egg in the kitchen. “Here's poor Mr. Campbell-Black with his heart broken,” Nanny tells Cook, “and those hussies he brought from the city with their hands on my poor motherless boys--.”

Rupert escapes outside to Snap's stall, feeding him lump after lump of sugar. When Mummy was home for Christmas they always brought carrots and apples and Polos for the horses, sausage and Milk Bones for Eddie's gundog and tinned salmon for the cats. Now her hunters, Ben and Blaze, stand with their heads over their doors, waiting sadly for their mistress. She'd promised to take Rupert hunting on Boxing Day, but now he'll have to stay home; Eddie can never be bothered.

Rupert kicks the wall and strokes Blaze's nose, and wishes Mummy had run away with Nick, who is an R.A.F. officer and hunts with the Quorn, or Richard, who played polo for England after the war and kissed her when he thought Rupert was sleeping, or anyone but stupid, boring Faisal in his shiny Rolls. He wishes Eddie had gone to Saudi instead. Without Mummy, Christmas is different. Penscombe is different.

Christmas dinner is vast, and there's only hungover Eddie, and Rupert who is full of the chocolate from his stocking, to eat it. “I want my real presents,” Rupert says, and sees Eddie flinch, and knows there aren't any presents. “I hate you,” he says, and slides under the table and out the door before Nanny and Eddie can catch him.

He spends the afternoon curled in the hay with the stable cat, ignoring Nanny at the bottom of the ladder, safely away from the scolding he knows he has coming-- starving Communist children in Russia and ingratitude for his poor father, and must he be as thoughtless as his mother, no doubt-- he's heard it all before. At dusk he climbs down. James is supposed to have come and done evening stables, but he hasn't bothered; Rupert fills the water buckets to the brim and measures oats for the hunters, standing on a bucket to do up their rugs.

Someday, he thinks, Penscombe's stable will be full again, instead of falling down and almost empty. When he's grown he'll hunt every day if he likes, and have a shining lorry like Harry Llewellyn's and go to the Horse of the Year Show. And he will never, ever speak to Eddie again.

He starts, a little grimly, for the house. There's a car parked in the drive, a battered Land Rover he recognizes as belonging to one of the farmers from beyond Penscombe village. That's good, it means Rupert will be able to slip around Eddie at least. With luck, he''ll be sent to bed without supper; he can always count on Nanny to change her mind and slip him bread and jam and biscuits and windfall apples.

But when he goes in through the kitchen, there's a man having tea with Cook. “'ere's Mr. Rupert now,” she says, “sure and won't Nanny be glad to see you in one piece, 'e's always mucking about with 'orrid 'orses.”

There are biscuits on a plate on the table. Rupert takes a handful, though he hasn't washed his hands, and tries to duck around Cook.

“No you don't,” she says. “Mr. Carter 'as something for you, Mr. Rupe, that he's come all the way out on Christ mas to bring you.”

The farmer stands up, and for the first time Rupert sees the puppy at his feet. A small, black Labrador puppy, a little pudgy still, with soft brown eyes.

“For me?”, he demands. Mummy had said he could have a puppy, now that he was old enough to take care of it, but Rupert hadn't really expected anything to come of it. Mum was like that sometimes, meaning things at the time but then forgetting about them.

Mr. Carter smiles, a little sourly. “Mrs. Campbell-Black told me months ago to save you one of my Bess's lads. But she never did come to collect him, and he's driving the Missus mad, chewing on everything in the house-- all the others've gone. He's yours, lad.”

“Oh,” Rupert says from the floor, the puppy in his lap, “thank you.” Carter touches his hat to Cook and edges out, but Rupert doesn't even notice. The puppy has hold of the cuff of his sweater, and is tugging hard, and for the first time since Mummy left Rupert can't help thinking that everything might be bearable after all.


End file.
